Vanity or Insanity?

So right now, there is a little thingy that everyone (ok, not everybody) is doing for their Facebook profile. You are supposed to update your profile picture to reflect the celebrity that people think resembles you. Or that you resemble them.

Yeah. Tricky.

See, people have told me on the rare occasion I do look like a good looking celebrity, but it is often after they have had something to drink.

And honestly, it has been very rare.

So, it's something I dare not participate in. This is one of those things where you have to be very careful. You don't want to post a picture of someone really hot and have everybody be like, "Who the f&^5 is she kidding?!" But at the same time, you don't want to put a picture of Shrek up or anything.

And have people nodding their heads saying and rubbing their chins going, "Oh yeah, I can TOTALLY see that . . . "

This goes hand in hand with the question that keeps me up at nights - and that is "Who would play me in a Lifetime movie?"

Now, I have tossed and turned over this question because of the following:

1) My life is not interesting enough to have a Lifetime movie made in my honor. So that is a bummer.

2) But if it WAS, I would like to know that the person had solid acting skills. And was relatively good looking.

3) Now, another issue is, I want a true A-list celebrity to play me. Like Eva Longoria. I don't care if she is several dress sizes smaller than me. And way hotter.

Because it's MY Lifetime movie.

So here is the rundown of celebrities I have been told I could possible bear a resemblance to. Now, they are not all the same shape and size or even the same color. You will smirk, you will judge, you will be like - that makes no SENSE!

1) Rosanna Arquette. I think it has something to do with my overbite. Yes she is blonde. I know that.

2) Marisa Tomei. This one makes me happy, but I have heard this one usually before someone is asking me for a big favor, so I really am not thinking it's very true.

3) Natalie Imbruglia. This is the one I have gotten once or twice when someone was drunk. If they have heard of Natalie Imbruglia. And if they have consumed enough alcohol to kill a short person. I have been known to hug them and thank them profusely. And I will give them instant mad props if they can name any of her other songs other than "Torn."

4) Kermit the Frog. My old High School friend, Gwendolyn, used to think I slightly resembled Kermit in my mannerisms. I like to think it's because she found me as endearing as him, but I am not sure. However, I will admit to being fairly "muppetesque" so she did it with good reason. She will still call me her favorite frog when she posts on my Facebook wall. I love her too much to think too deeply about this comparison.

And frankly, as long as she is not calling me Miss Piggy, I guess I am cool with it.


5) Girl From CVS. And this one is not a celebrity, as such. But the nice gentleman from our McDonald's drive-thru thinks I look like the chick from the CVS on the other side of town. I told one of my neighbors who was like "Um, no. NOT at ALL." I don't know if this is because she is way better looking than me, or I am way better looking than her, but I will have to go buy make-up I don't need so I can check this whole thing out.

Similar to when you apply for college and your guidance counselor tells you what your "reach" schools are, I could say that the first three are my "reach"es and the last two are probably my "realistic."

So there you have it. I will not post a picture of my "reaches" on Facebook as my profile picture, because I would not presume to do that to these beautiful women who would be like, "Oh no she didn't!" (Double, No, NO TRIPLE Snap, Jerry Springer style).

This is an old promo picture of me from when I was a musician and thought guys would dig me more if I carried a guitar around. I don't know what I was looking at, but think I succeeded in looking fairly vacuous (but with an edge, right?).

So, my question to you is - WHO WOULD PLAY YOU IN YOUR LIFETIME MOVIE? Don't be shy. I don't care if you tell me you want it to be Rebecca Romjin and you're only 5'freakin2".

Spill it.

XOXO,
Kiran

Back in Business

So I have been a little out of the loop. I was away for work and came back home to find John dealing with major chaos. Even though I got in close to midnight on Wednesday, he asked me to creep in to check in on Shaila, so I could see some of what he had been dealing with.

I walked in and even in the dark, could see that she was covered in some nasty attack of the hives - we still don't know for sure - so things have been crazy.

But I am back. Sort of. Kind of half-asleep really.

While I was gone, John stepped up quite nicely and the house wasn't burnt to the ground, which I thought was a good sign when I drove up.

(It helps that our nanny, Kim, also helps to fill in the gaps for us on the whole "parenting" part of things).

So in an effort to show my appreciation for him, I just picked a fight with him about something really stupid (upstairs) so I could finally do some writing (downstairs).

Cuz that's how I show my love.

I know that I talk some serious smack about John. He has a pretty good sense of humor and he concedes that he talks a fair amount of smack about me too.

I have laughed with (hmm, AT) him in my Dear John Letter. I think many of you laughed with him (hmm. AT him) too.

He has laughed with me (and AT me) as well. Because in the end, he knows I still love him, even when he ignores me for the Dallas Cowboys.

So I wanted to list out the small, little things that make him so undeniably "husband-y" every day, and which I fail to acknowledge him for, because I am too busy calling him out on the stupid stuff that really doesn't matter so much.

1) He "sirs" and "ma'am"s EVERYONE. When we go out to eat, he shows respect and true joy when he talks to every person who serves us - whether it's the maitre d' at a swank restaurant or the bus boy at the Mexican joint we like.

I know that may sound silly, but I see how often others overlook taking the time to show their appreciation and mutual courtesy for our fellow cohorts in this crazy life. It happens when they are in a rush. Or maybe not in so much of a rush.

It's just something that not all people are "wired" to think about.

And I don't think he has to think about it either.

He just does.

His parents taught him well, but at the same time, I am glad he chose to remember the lesson.

2) The way he remembers stories from his childhood and of his important friendships. I can't tell you how many times something will happen and he will cut me off to be like, "Oh, this reminds me of the time me and my brother 'insert petty crime' when we were 8." Or, "This reminds me of the time me and X, Y and Z (from his college soccer team) got really messed up and played 'insert practical joke' on such and such."

And he will laugh. And he will shake his head. And he will share all the joys of his memories. It is true that many times, I cringe.

I think, "Seriously, what the hell was wrong with you guys?"

But it's also kind of nice. Because while the one side of my brain is processing the really ridiculous information he just gave me, another part of it is processing that maybe it doesn't have to make sense to me. And he is still friends with most of those people today, which I think counts for a lot. Even after some of those godawful practical jokes.

3) When he watches television shows, he unwittingly appoints himself as Simon Cowell. I don't know what it is, but he really is very "communicative" when he watches television. Not like he watches Oprah and says "You go on, girl!" or anything like that.

But like, the other night? We were watching a tivo'ed episode of "24." The President of an influential Middle Eastern nation (I don't know if they said which one, but geography is not my forte) is giving a speech about how even though his life may be in grave danger it is critical for world security (and for Jack Bauer to ensure that he can save the world again) that he step up his effort to create peace.

I have to admit. I got choked up. Partly because I was like, "Dude's right! Why can't we all just get along?"

But, then another part of me was all "OMG, it's Anil f%$^ing Kapoor!" remembering old Indian movies where he played the leather jacket wearing hero on a motorcycle who could kill a goonda (or thug) and break out into full choreographed dance sequences thirty seconds later.


Hubba. Hubba. My third grade heart still stops a beat.

So going back to that night - I turn to my left to look at John and I see him nodding his head. Like, really nodding his head.

As if to say, "Hey Mr. President of some unnamed foreign nation on a Fox hit series. I hear you!"

I don't think he knows how often he does it or how often I catch him doing it.

But it's kind of cute. Except when he's nodding his approval at the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders.

4) He holds doors. Ok, big freaking deal. You may even think most people hold doors for other members of their polite (not really) society. This is, IN FACT, not true.

But not only does John just hold the door for the next person behind him - he scopes out the whole area to ensure that there are no older folks with canes, harried moms with a stroller or just someone who looks like they could use a hand, before he walks out the door.

And as someone who has often had to find a way to navigate my stroller, bags and tired body through the doors of a store when the person in front of me could not take the time - I think it's a really cool freaking thing.

This also extends to helping people put their luggage up on overhead bins on flights. John stands up and looks around - behind us, in front of us - and checks to make sure nobody needs help.

Again, as someone who traveled extensively for work throughout both of my pregnancies, I did not realize how many people do not always help. I guess most of the time I did not need it - but at my most vulnerable (and probably least cute, which also may have contributed), there was sometimes not a soul around to offer a hand.

But isn't it just great when you don't have to ask and someone just offers. Just because?

And that's what he does. Just because.

So that concludes the last freaking lovefest for John that you will probably ever see on this stupid blog. Despite all the C.R.A.P. I give the poor man, it's some of the little things above which indicate much bigger things in respect to who is he.

This is not a brag session. Please don't take this as a "oh, my husbands so great because everyone else sucks." If you, or the people you surround yourself with, or your spouse, do any of the things above - then I want to say major props to you too.

I think that you are probably cool as shit and know how you should treat the people around you as you get through this life.

I like the way y'all roll.

XOXO,
Kiran

How Smug Were You?

Now, I don't know about y'all.

Yeah, I do say y'all.

I have lived in Virginia now for 16 freaking years. It's crazy when I think about my Jersey roots and being transplanted south of the Mason Dixon line now for 16 freaking years.

It's probably weird to hear an Indian girl from New Jersey saying y'all. It's totally weird, I can respect that.

So I don't know about y'all, but tonight, I would like you to ponder this little gem. I was told by a friend that although I said pregnancy was an extremely, extremely humbling experience (because there is no better time to get your waddle on), he said to me, "Oh, you're just being smug."

And I thought to myself, "I'll show you f%$%ing smug, you pompous prick."

But then he sent me this link and I realized he was just making a joke.

Oops. Sorry Dave.

I wasn't sure whether to be horrified, pee myself or call these bitches out for being horribly rude.

In the end I just laughed. I think you might too :-)

Pregnant Women Are Smug (Garfunkel and Oates)

<

Confessions

So, I have a confession to make. It's terribly embarrassing and also indicates that I have a really strong need for you to like me and an even worse sense of vanity.

It's worse than telling you that I used to take hours to straighten my hair and that I used to know the people at the MAC counter so well that they sent me Christmas cards.

Not that I'm saying I ever did those things. Those are just examples.

Here goes . . . .

I count my followers.

I get SOOO pumped when new ones join under that "It's OK to be a Follower" section on the left hand nav of this page.

(Yes, over there <--------------------).

So the other day, I realized that I lost a Follower. Now to de-"follow" someone, you actually have to take a step that's REALLY a few steps to remove them from your "Blogs You Follow" List. So three days ago, I lost a Follower. This casualty was a sad one for me.

I am ashamed to say it, but at the same time, I will be straight with you, because if nothing else, I feel like I owe it to myself and you, to be honest.

At first I wondered who it was. I wondered if it was something I said? But then I just kind of came to the following realization.

It was probably all the cursing.

Oops.

I know that over the past few weeks I made a big 'To do" about a whole lot 'O nothing, mainly the fact that I was going to make an effort to stop cursing. So I picked up a few followers here and there, and they probably thought, "Oh, she's a nice girl. She tells cute stories AND she keeps it clean."

But then over the past weeks, I find that I have resorted back to my old (ok, not that old), BAD habits.

And maybe, well maybe, some of you haven't recognized me.

And I also realized that trying to be someone you are NOT is no good. You know how you can try and TRY and TRY to be everything to everybody and then nobody ends up being happy? And then they drink too much and have to take prescription anti-depressants?

That kind of unhappy?

Sometimes I just need to TRY a little less. I think we all do.

The only way that I am going to keep it real here is by really telling you who I am.

So here it goes. (Deep breath).

1) I curse. I try not to at home and when I speak. I try. That's all I can do.

2) If I do curse in this blog, I will make every effort to do things like use cool symbols like %, $, #, @, and !. I find that they are generally underused and deserve some action too.

If seeing something like f%$# or h@$% upsets you, I understand and applaud you for not being as numb to profanity as I have become.

What can I say?

I'm from Jersey.

Exit 10, baby.

3) I can be snarky. I can be sarcastic. I try to be a good person. Again, I try. I would say I am 90% nice and 10% bitch-lite. If you are ok with that, cool. I definitely appreciate the company.

4) I drink. I definitely like my wine. I will tell stories sometimes in which wine is involved. If you want to stick around and are against this, you are free to replace wine with "Orangina" or something else. Or if it offends you, I also understand.

5) I make fun of my kids. I love them, but yes, I definitely make fun of them too. It's how I show my love. I can see how some may find that obnoxious. I think most of my family does.

Like, I can tell my dad gets mad when I refer to Shaila as "Spaz #1." (I only do this behind her back, so really, it's ok). But I am his daughter so he resigns himself to it. And he just doesn't read my blog that often.

That's cool, Papa.

You know me well enough to know that's just how I roll.

6) I give my husband a lot of C.R.A.P. (That's in caps on purpose. There is no point to all the periods in that, except it looked less crass to write it that way).

7) I get defensive about all things Indian and related to my culture. At the same time, I dish it out myself. (But I guess I am one of those who can't take it). As Surferwife mentioned in a previous post, she would not want to be near me in a dark alley if I was armed with a samosa.

8) I try not to offend. Again, I TRY. But sometimes, I just can't help it. I certainly don't mean to.

So, I just felt like I needed to put this all out there. To give you a chance to re-evaluate whether you are really "with me" or kind of ready to go through the three steps or whatnot to be "not with me."

If you do stick along for the ride and if I ever say anything that is even a little "teensy" bit out of line, please feel free to take a break from me, send me an email explaining your feelings so we can "hug it out" and of course, de-follow if you feel you must.

But I hope we continue to roll together. I know I may have scared off a few of you with my spaz-tastic Date Night Lessons (and then I ask myself where Shaila gets it from? Maybe I should just call myself Spaz Senior? Don't answer, strictly rhetorical).

I will try not to go Jerry Springer on you guys. Although I will have to share a few times about how I have gone Jerry Springer in the past. But I am trying to put those days behind me.

Try being the operative word.

XOXO,
Kiran

DNL # 5 - How to Get Some Sleep

(This is part of my five part Date Night Lessons series dedicated to our first date night in like, a really freaking long time).

For Previous Lessons, Refer to:
DNL#1 - How Much Do You Pay a Babysitter?
DNL#2 - How to Roll When Someone "Comps" You
DNL#3 - How to Ride in an Elevator
DNL#4 - How to Start a Fight at the Knights of Columbus

So, date night was awesome. It's a good thing that Heather and I are married to two responsible men because she and I had a raucous time talking about a whole lot of nothing sitting in the back of the car on the way home while our husbands made sure we got home safely.

As we traded ideas on how we could go kung-fu on Mr. iPod Conspiracy Theorist and as we tried to explore different theories on who Jamie really could be, we sat in the back giggling in a way that was reminiscent of when we graduated from college and would go out and party in D.C.

Except, when we did that, we could go home, hang out, roll into bed whenever, and sleep in until it suited us.

But that's not really how it works anymore, huh?

Because my kids didn't get the memo, and they actually thought the party was starting, not ending at 3:30 AM.

Lesson Learned:
Date night needs to be a lot less fun next time. I can't hang anymore.

*************************************************************************

And that completes the "Date Night Lessons" series. If you have hung around for all 5 installments, you will receive, well . . .

Absolutely nothing.

I don't do giveaways and shit. That's not how I roll.

But hopefully you can learn from our lesson here and ensure a much smoother date night for yourself one day soon.

DNL #4 - How to Start a Fight at the Knights of Columbus

(This is part of my five part Date Night Lessons series dedicated to our first date night in like, a really freaking long time).


For Previous Lessons, Refer to:
DNL#1 - How Much Do You Pay a Babysitter?
DNL#2 - How to Roll When Someone "Comps" You
DNL#3 - How to Ride in an Elevator

So, I told you in my last post that I was really bummed when we got to Mr. Crocker's party and nobody was dancing. This is SACRILEGE, I thought.

Nobody puts Mr. C in the corner.

Granted, he wasn't really in the corner. He was kind of hanging around, nursing a few drinks and chit-chatting with all the guests. But I could tell he was a little bummed about the music.

This is a picture of Mr. C at our wedding. (The lovely blonde cheering him on is Heather):


He really, really likes to dance. And he can jitterbug, foxtrot, salsa with the best of them.

So here is kind of what I was expecting to hear when we got to the party. This is my imaginary sample playlist of some of the stuff I might have played if anyone asked "DJ Masala" to handle the music at the party:

Cupid - Sam Cooke
Get Up - James Brown
Shake, Shake Shake Senora - Harry Belafonte
Runaround Sue - Not sure who sings this
Brown Eyed Girl - Van Morrison
Crazy Love - Van Morrison
I Feel Good - James Brown
Come a Little Bit Closer - Jay and the Americans
Mambo Italiano - Rosemary Clooney
Anything by Frankie Vallie

That is just a rough sample.

(I also can be hired to do bar/bat Mitzvahs, weddings and Sweet 16s)

Anyhoo.

DJ Masala's playlist was NOT playing, however. One of the Mr. C's friends from church was helping out with the music and had set up some speakers that were being fed through his iPod. Now, I don't even know what was being played, but let me just tell you that it didn't make you want to dance.

So Heather and I got a little over eager to make sure that Mr. C would be provided the right kind of music to dance to on his birthday. This may have had something to do with the wine that we drank at dinner.

Jamie, it all comes back to you, doesn't it? This is all your fault.

"Do you have your iPod in the car?" Heather asked.
"Yes!" I said, all too eagerly. Except then I realized what was on it.

See, on my iPod, I have all the folksy, acoustic songs that I used to calm me down during the births of both of my children. That comprises the primary playlist. It is full of lovely songs that don't make you want to dance, per se, but rather, fall asleep. Or even push out a baby.

Which was not what we were going for at this party.

I didn't think anyone would appreciate my Joshua Radin, Damien Rice, Alexi Murdoch, Brandi Carlile, Tristan Prettyman, Schuyer Fisk mix (yes, I know, I know - all household names. But I LOVE them).

And then I thought of what else was on my playlist. These are the songs I listen to to get me "revved up" when I work out. They are hardcore and probably not appropriate for this party:

Killing in the Name - Rage Against the Machine
Welcome to the Jungle - Guns n Roses
Give it Away - Red Hot Chilli Peppers
Gold Digger - Kanye West
Get Busy - Crystal Method

But then we looked through it and found some decent tunes - mainly James Brown and Sam Cooke and thought we could at least get a few songs where Mr. C could just throw down and show everybody his moves.

Because nobody puts Mr. C in the corner.

So we go over to change the iPod out. Heather and I were both convinced that Mr. C was as upset about the music choices as we were and felt it was our civic duty to help him. So we go over, pause the iPod and start changing it.

And some lady comes over and slaps us on our hand.

I kid you not. I mean, it didn't hurt. But she kind of looked at Heather and me and said, "You shouldn't touch somebody's machine."

Ok. I totally get it. Maybe we jumped the gun. But really, you had to go on and slap my hand. And who the he%$ calls an iPod a machine?

So, Heather and I try to be respectful, because it goes along with our over-tipping personalities. But then Mr. iPod Machine comes over, we explain that we just want to have a few songs where we can all dance with Mr. C and he tells us:

"This is a very complicated setup." (If complicated means connecting a wire, ok. I guess that COULD be complicated.) Then he says, "If Mr. C says he wants it changed, then I will do it. But not because of two girls." He almost spit at us when he said the "two girls" part.

Oh. No. He didn't. (snap, snap). Complicated my ASS. The only complicated thing about tonight is still trying to figure out who the he$% Jamie is.

At this point, Heather explains to the man that Mr. C himself said he needed a change of pace with the music (but I don't think Mr. C ever really ever meant for us to repeat that to his fellow church member, ya know? Oops.)

So you can see where this is heading? Right?

Like, I get out ONCE a freaking year and am now starting brawls with senior citizens.

What have I become?

Mr. C saw what was happening and tried to tell us not to worry and then Mr. Complicated iPod came over and realized we weren't just two chicks crashing the party at the Knights of Columbus who were getting overfamiliar with his machine. But our feelings were hurt. Because it wasn't Mr. C in the corner.

It was really me and Heather.

Lesson Learned:
Stop touching other people's machines. And don't start fights with Senior Citizens. It just doesn't make much sense.

You could get banned from the fraternal order of the Knights of Columbus and that would be embarrassing.

Especially when you ask "DJ Masala" to emcee your next Sweet 16.

DNL #3 - How to Ride in an Elevator

(This is part of my five part "Date Night Lessons" series dedicated to our first date night in like, a really freaking long time).

For Previous Lessons, Refer to:
DNL#1 - How Much Do You Pay a Babysitter?
DNL#2 - How to Roll When Someone "Comps" You


So we finally made it to Mr. Crocker's party, which was in full swing, but was surprisingly, a little less rowdy than I expected. Don't get me wrong, I know it was Mr. Crocker's 70th and all and I didn't expect anybody to be doing body shots or keg stands or anything like that.

But I DID expect Mr. Crocker to be cutting up a rug, because he loves, loves, loves to dance.

But the dance floor was kind of empty. I will get to THAT in tomorrow's post.

So we walk in and go around hugging and greeting everybody. I was a little tipsy from dinner so I guess I was being a little "Chatty Cathy". Within a few minutes, I run into one of Liz's cousins - Barbara.

Now, Barbara is an amazingly accomplished woman. She is a loving wife and mother and daughter. She is also a very, very respected businesswoman, a former CEO at huge companies that we all know and serves on the Board of Directors for several large companies we all have experience with in some form today.

Basically, like Forbes Magazine "top lists" successful.

And she is really, REALLY nice.

I started chatting with her and given my propensity to babble on when I am tipsy, told her about my own frustrations with working in technology and feeling like I have to claw my way towards middle management, in a sea of very few women and with very few women role models.

As she empathized with me and gave me some sound advice, I found myself blurting out, "Barbara, would you ever be open to mentoring me? I would love to learn from some of what you have seen . . . "

Even as I was saying this, I realized how stupid I sounded. I blamed this on the wine from dinner. Better yet, I will just blame this on Jamie (since nobody knows who the heck she/he is anyway).

I was ready for the rejection and for her to laugh in my face. For her to tell me how she didn't have time for someone at my level, and that she was in another playing field than me. I was already ready to just throw my drink in the air, yell "Fire!" and run out the door and hope she forgot about our conversation.

But you know what she said? It was one of those amazingly wonderful and inspiring things that I plan to hold in my back pocket to pull out on rainy days. The kind of thing that one day, I hope I have enough wisdom to say.

"Kiran, when I was a young businesswoman, and just starting out, there was a woman Executive who worked at my company. One day, I was in an elevator with her and she didn't even LOOK at me. She knew who I was, but it was beneath her, on some level, to even acknowledge me."

At this point, Barbara looked me in the eyes and said, "I vowed to myself then that no matter how successful or even unsuccessful I ever became, that I would never treat another woman like that. That I would always acknowledge her on my elevator."

And then came the clincher:

"I would love to go on an elevator ride with you."

So there you have it. I know that Barbara is an amazing woman and I hope to someday learn more about her experiences - I am sure she has some incredible stories to tell and she broke through the glass ceiling that many women still struggle to fight through with her intelligence, drive and integrity.

But even if I don't get to have that opportunity with her, I will always be grateful for that very gracious and very humble lesson.

Lesson Learned:
I never want to become that other woman on the elevator. No matter how jaded, tired, disenchanted, superior or whatever it is that I may feel at some point in my life - I never want to become that woman.

If I ever do anything that indicates I have broken this vow that I am making today, I invite every one of you friends and readers to send me a big bitch slap over email and remind me what we all need to remember - that everyONE of us deserves respect.

Except maybe Jamie.

And there is always room for each one of you on my elevator. Always. Not that you're all running to catch it. You're probably hanging around in the back being like "Oh, that's ok. I'll just get the next one." Which is cool too.

Thanks for your graciousness, Barbara.

DNL #2 - How To Roll When Someone "Comps" You

(This is part of my five part "Date Night Lessons" series dedicated to our first date night in like, a really freaking long time).

For Previous Lesson, Refer to DNL#1 - How Much Do You Pay a Babysitter?

We got to the restaurant and were excited to be in a place where we were not tripping over bouncy seats. We noticed an old friend, Crystal, was a hostess at the restaurant and got all sorts of warm and fuzzy about being back in Arlington, a place we have so many memories of!

(It's also a place where I have a lot of memories that I forgot to remember because this is where I lived my hard core, hard partying twenties)

I digress.

Ray's the Steaks was awesome. But remember how I told you that Heather and I like to over-tip/over-pay/pretend we are Jay-Z? Well, we also have this need to have the wait staff really like us. We don't like people who snap their fingers at waiters and waitresses and when we connect with our waiter/waitress, we try to let them know that we are not going to be the pain in the butt kind of clientele, but the kind they like. You know, the kind they would want to have a beer with.

So of course, we smiled at all the wait staff extra big because:

a) we were actually out and didn't have a Baby Bjorn attached to us
b) we started getting buzzed pretty quickly just from the first glass of wine
c) we needed to make sure we were the "cool" clientele and that our servers knew we "got" them

Dinner was incredible. We received complimentary amuse bouches, (see how I am using my "Top Chef" vocabulary?) and when it came time for desert, the waitress said, "Oh and Jamie wanted to let you know that dessert is on the house for each of you" and then they gave us these cute little cups of hot chocolate to go with each of our four desserts.

I was bowled over by all the "comp'ed" stuff. I felt like I was rolling vip (My friend Monique says this is 'vip' not V.I.P. Vip is way cooler).

But I was also like, "Who the f%$ is Jamie?"

To which Heather responded, "Jamie must be that hostess in the blue shirt. She always takes care of us and sometimes we slip her some money to say thanks. We should definitely take care of her when we leave."

Now, I already mentioned in my previous post that both Heather and I are both notorious overtippers. Add alcohol to that and we start pretending we are totally rich. So she and I look over the check and make a point to tell Mark and John - we need to tip on EVERYTHING - even if they didn't charge us for it. Mark and John both kind of roll their eyes at us but since Heather and I had already consumed a good deal of wine, they knew it would be silly to argue with us.

(It's silly for them to argue with us even when we are sober. They generally won't win).

We also figured if we took care of the girl in the blue shirt, aka Jamie, then maybe we could roll vip again next time.

So after we pay the check, Heather goes to slip the girl in the blue shirt some cash and says, "Thank you, Jamie." To which the girl responded, "Oh, my name's not Jamie."

So here is my question? Who the heck comp'ed us all this stuff?

1) Was it really our old friend Crystal who comp'ed us and the waitress misspoke? If so, she is probably like, why the heck are they giving my co-worker money? What jerks!

In this case, my hopes of rolling vip again are crushed.

2) Is the girl in the blue shirt like, "Why are these weird people giving me money? I'm not that kind of girl!?"

In this case, the girl in the blue shirt thinks we are odd and will definitely not let us roll vip.

and

3) I still have no f'#%$ing clue who Jamie is. And she or even HE is probably like, that is the last time I take care of those people!

In this case, since I don't even know who Jamie is and we didn't even give that person so much as a thank you, we will definitely not be rolling vip.

So, that is what we got for trying to play (and pay) nice.

Lesson Learned:
Next time somebody "comps" something on your meal, find out who the heck they are. Even if it's a little embarrassing. And then, if you are going to slip someone some money, slip it to the person who comp'ed you and not the random girl in the blue shirt who now thinks you are propositioning her or something and will seat you all the way in the back next time.

If you get seated at all. And if you know how Jamie is, please tell him/her "Thank You" from us.

DNL #1 - How Much Do You Pay a Babysitter?

(This is part of my five part Date Night Lessons series dedicated to our first date night in like, a really freaking long time).

So, we got an invitation in the mail for the 70th birthday party of a man that my friends and I hold very dear to our hearts. Gary Crocker, my good friend Liz's dad, was going to be honored for the big 7-0 and of course, we wouldn't miss it for the world. The party was going to be in Arlington, VA at a Knights of Columbus.

We spoke to two of our friends, Heather and Mark, about trying out a restaurant they kept raving about in Arlington called Ray's the Steaks before heading over to the party. Heather said she would handle reservations and also took on the responsibility of finding a baby-sitter for our four kids (two of ours, two of theirs) who would take care of the children at Heather and Mark's house.

I said, "Sure, handle it!" because I am lazy about that stuff and I am always looking for an easy way out of doing work.

So Heather and I spoke about what to pay the baby-sitter. Now, just for the record, we are both notorious "overtippers." Heather was a waitress during college, so that's where her desire to take care of those in the service industry comes from. I am not sure where my need to overtip comes from, but I definitely feel the need to take care of anybody who drives me in a taxi, serves me food, cuts my hair or carries my luggage for me. I feel terribly guilty that they had to deal with me for even a brief period of time and so I tip them to say, "Hey sorry about that!" because that's how I roll.

So, when it comes to someone spending a Saturday night taking care of our children, we put a high premium on their time.

Add to that, if you're going to spend your Saturday night taking care of my hellion, I mean, Shaila, then I think you should be given a teeny bit extra.

So Heather called me once she secured the babysitter, who was a teacher from her children's daycare. She told me the rate. It sounded good to me. I am bad with math, as well as money, so I was like "Cool!" because that is usually what I just say.

So when I came home, I mentioned to John that we would be paying the baby-sitter $X an hour to watch all four children.

"Are you f%$%ing kidding me!??" he asked.

"No. She is very, very good." I explained. I could see him doing the math. But I realized some might consider it to be an exorbitant rate at this point.

"Do you realize how much we will be paying her by the time the night is over?" he asked.

"I haven't done the math yet." If you haven't guessed I really, really hate math.

At this point I got mad and started yelling at him, saying didn't he think I was worth it and how could he put a dollar value on the care of his children and whatnot and he just let it go. But not before saying,

"I hope she at least juggles or has some cool talent. I want to feel like I am getting my money's worth."

Suffice to say, the baby-sitter did not juggle. But she was nice. Maybe not $X/hour nice. But she was sweet. So I felt ok about it.

Lessons learned?
John will be the one responsible for hiring a baby-sitter going forward because I don't want to hear him complain about how I spend too much money before the date even starts. That is not a good sign and means he will be paying extra attention to how expensive the bottle of wine is.

Stay Tuned for DNL #2 - How to Roll When Someone "Comps" You

Date Night Lessons (A Series in Five Parts)

So these days, it is very obvious that I don't hmmm . . . too much . . . excitement in my life. Even if you just read my blog you know that. Here is how you can make the assumption:

1) I work a full time job
2) I have two kids and a husband
3) A new post shows up on this blog every day
4) I am sore from doing stupid things like P90X and the Insanity workouts. This makes walking to do other cool stuff a challenge
5) There are only 24 hours in a day

So, given that I am doing this, there is not room for much else in my life right now, which sometimes also includes sleep.

But that is neither here nor there.

Because this post is not about me pitying myself. Because see, last night, John and I went on our first date night in a REALLY long time. It was a double date, which made it even more fun because we were forced to have real conversation and not just sit there saying shit like "Oh man, I am so tired!" and "Wasn't it cute when Shaila said XYZ?" which is probably what we would have done if it was just me and John.

But since this happens so rarely, you have to know that of course, a lot of silly shit went down and now I have to tell you all about it in my count em, five part series.

I am going to stop here and post the first installment as another post so you don't think I am writing these long, overly words entries.

Sneaky, huh?

I shall call this series the DNL series (get it? Date Night Lessons?)

XOXO,
Kiran

DC Metro Moms Debut

Ok, I know. I know. I promised I would be quiet today.

So I will continue to be quiet over here. Sshhhh.

If you want to read what I have to say today, go over there - my debut today at DC Metro Moms.

Have a great weekend all!

XOXO,
Kiran

Pithy Friday

Guys. You have the day off. I will not speak today. Because I hear bloggers should talk less sometimes.

Ok.

(Sound of Crickets).

Yeah, so that kind of sucks. I always like to fill uncomfortable silences. I am the girl you hate at cocktail parties because I talk about the dumb shit that makes your head hurt.

What?? It's not like YOU were saying anything. And you know how I feel about silence.

Pause.

(More crickets.)

Yesterday was an important post for me. The most important ever in my blog. For all of you who read it, I am giving you a break. That was hard work. Get some rest! I am so touched by all of your beautiful words of encouragement and hope. It's truly very humbling and it means a lot to me.

For those of you who didn't get a chance - I would be so very grateful if you would go back and read this. I know all of you are praying with me now for the people of Haiti. Please add this prayer to your list.

XOXO,
Kiran

Thinking of You Thursday

When I graduated from High School in New Jersey, I left the state in kind of a hurry. When my acceptance to the University of Virginia came, I counted the days until I could go. And before anybody makes any smart ass comment about wanting to run from Jersey too, I just want to make it clear that it was not because I had anything against New Jersey.

I had some demons I was running from and I couldn't get out fast enough. I don't like to confront things. I have always been much better at running away.

But in my haste to leave, I didn't realize how much I would also leave behind. And how important those things, mainly the people, would come to mean to me.

One of those people is my friend, Kate*.

I grew up with Kate. We were friends since the 3rd grade and when she moved down to our little Central Jersey suburb from Brooklyn, NY, she wooed me in with her exotic little accent.

She pronounced four as "faw." Water was "wat-uh."

How cool is she? I thought. And so I immediately decided to eradicate the letter "r" from my vocabulary so I could be more like her.

Kate was beautiful. I had been battling the curly rat's nest on my head and no banana clip in the world would help. She waltzed in with her swingy, long, sandy brown hair and made me realize I was not destined to be a shampoo commercial model.

We stayed close throughout elementary school, middle school and high school. We often ran with different circles of friends but our bonds were tight and our history deep. She was the Captain of the Cheerleading team. I was more the President of National Honor Society. She went to cool parties and dated hot football players. I focused on practicing my essay writing so I could get into a good school.

(yes - yes. she was the dorky one).

Kate definitely had more social clout than I did, so I was often able to still get included in events that were way too cool for me, just by association. I made sure to take advantage of our relationship to the fullest. I mean, if she was going to work so hard at being cool and ending up on the homecoming court, I had to make sure all her hard work was for something.

I am kidding. The reality is, Kate never had to "work" for that. It was pretty effortless and it's kind of easy to fall in love with her.

But once I left for college, Kate and I slowly lost touch. Email, Facebook and social media that ties us all together today was not a reality then. We would make an effort to reconnect but over time, we lost touch.

Days became months became years.

When our ten year High School reunion was around the corner, I decided I needed to reach out to my old friend. Her parents' phone number is one I still remember and so I thought I would call it and see if her parents could give me her number.

"Hello?"

It was Kate.

Her voice reminded me of sunshine, hopscotch on the playground, skinned knees, my middle school crush (unrequited), cartwheels, eating Jolly Ranchers on the school bus, pool parties, Senior Prom, bad Jersey hair (mostly mine, not hers), hairspray, Bon Jovi, Dylan McKay from 90210, New Kids on the Block (she like Joey MacIntyre, I was a Jordan Knight fan myself), the REAL Jersey Shore and her mother's awesome Italian food.

It was home.

Since then, Kate and I have made a much better effort to stay in touch. Though I am not fortunate enough to see her as often as I would like, I will make every effort to have her in my life. Because friendships like that are too precious to ever let go.

So why am I telling you all this?

Because today, I am asking for your help with something.

I don't really write about faith and God over here. Other friends can speak about their relationship with God in a way that I just feel ill qualified to do. But I am grateful that they can so eloquently write or speak things I have such trouble expressing myself. I am thankful that they are able to express what I am still trying to work through myself. When they are close to God, I feel less guilty for my own lack of piety.

The truth is, I feel somewhat like an impostor when I venture into that arena.

But right now, I am looking to God. And I am looking to you.

You see, Kate was due to deliver her second child in February of this year. In early December, I received a call from another old high school friend informing me that Kate's water had broke. Two days later the baby came.

Very, very early.

Kate had a beautiful baby girl. At birth she weighed 1.4 pounds.

Kate, her husband, and son, along with the rest of their family and friends are praying every day. And the baby is turning out to be a real fighter. She has had some ups, she has had some downs.

But every day she fights.

It may be some time before the baby comes home from the hospital. In the meantime, Kate and Bryce are working, running their household, raising a child at home, while trying to hold it all together while being there for their little blessing, who is showing the world what a steadfast fighter she is as each day passes.

Friends and family, can you pray for Kate's baby girl? I have faith that she will be a strong, beautiful force to be reckoned with just like her mother was. IS.

I know you, like me, are summoning up all your energy to pray for the people of Haiti. While praying, please also keep Kate and her family in your thoughts.

Whether you are Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist - I ask you to put your hands together and summon up all the positive energy you can and just pray for my friend and her family. Pray that one day that this baby girl will kick some butt and takes some names as she becomes the Captain of the Cheerleading team or President of National Honor Society. Or both. That she be gracious as she turns down dates from the hot high school football dudes because she is too busy writing her own essays for HARVARD and that she is blessed with her mother's keen sense of style. (Bryce, no offense).

Every night I carry the image of Kate's baby's little hands in my head as I say my own prayer.

Thank you, friends.

And thank you, Kate. I love the fact that you are back in my life and I cannot wait till I can hug your baby girl.

(* Names have been changed. And any high school friends who can figure out who Kate is, please keep her in your thoughts and prayers - I don't really think she can handle too many emails/calls right now. It's a bit crazy so the best way to help her right now is to just pray. Thank you guys.)

Exciting News from the House of Pain

Hey Guys,

I got a really cool message last night and am super pumped about a cool new opportunity. I am going to be one of the writers for the the DC Metro Moms, part of the Silicon Valley Mom's Group. I am excited and will be (annoying them over there, just like I do to you EVERY day over here) a valued contributor to that group.

I think.

Now for what happened two nights ago in the Hiz-ouse of Pain.

***********************************************

Ow. Ow. Ow. OW!

On Monday night I lay in bed, in excruciating pain. I had a tummy ache to end all tummy aches. I didn't know what was happening. Is this the end? I thought. John is on a business trip. Should I wake my neighbors?

Who will take care of Nico and Shaila if I don't make it? Will they even remember me?

These were the thoughts going through my head. What could have caused this pain? I tried to go back through the possible causes.

P90X?

That's what it HAD to be. A friend had been raving about how effective it had been for her and let me borrow the 12 DVD extreme workout collection and I had done my second hour long DVD last night. I had felt pretty good while I was doing it, but when you haven't worked out in like, 8 months, baby steps are probably a better idea than going in whole hog.

Oink, oink.

But I felt ok when I was doing it. I mean, I had some trouble breathing and took a few more water breaks than necessary but really, I could already tell my butt was getting smaller. That's part of what made the water breaks longer. I had to keep running to the mirror to see the fast results.

So the technicalities of oxygen intake were really just that.

Could it be stress related? Work?

THAT must be it, I thought. I knew that I was meant to be a lady of leisure. (Please pronounce that as "lea-sure". And hold your pinky up at the same time. It makes you look fancy, I have found).

That's that! I said. I am going to tell John that I will need to quit my job tomorrow. I can't let it impact my health in this way. People with sensitive tummies need to take special care with the type of stress inducing activity they take on.

I was pretty positive that was it. I was already planning what I would do with with all the time I would have when I was being all "leisure-ly."

It couldn't have been my dinner. Nah. I quickly dismissed that! I had gone to the store and gotten that free range organic chicken that I had prepared for Shaila along with lime infused brown rice and my garlic sauteed spinach.

And then it came back to me. Like a big GOB-suh-mack in the face.

That whole organic chicken thing that had sounded like a great idea, except that I was running late coming home from the stress inducing job and so I had to kind of improvise and take just a few shortcuts with dinner last night? Well, I forgot that instead of being the awesome gourmand that I (pretend to be) am, I made a quick pitstop at the gourmet Mexican restaurant on the way home from work.

Chez Taco Bell did not let me down.

I wasn't sure what Shaila would like so I invested a whole ten dollars in the following:

1) 1 Mexican pizza
2) 1 Border Nacho
3) 1 Bean and Cheese Burrito
4) 3 Beef tacos

At dinner, I wasn't sure how much Shaila ate. Or how much I ate. Of the organic free range chicken. I mean, Mexican pizza.

But after I checked more stress causing messages on my Blackberry whilst scarfing down whatever it WAS that I did eat, I decided it was time for P90X.

As the next wave of pain hit, I knew.

That I would not be a lady of lea-sure. (pinky up! Up).

Darn you, Mexican Pizza and P90X.

Lethal combination. The first part should have been enough. Mexican + pizza just does not sound like they are in synch. Mexican + pizza + P90X + petite Indian girl + (yes - another plus) my crackberry and you have . . .

ba dum pum.

Kiran's Worst Tummy Ache. Ever.

P.S. John. PLEASE, just get home. Because dinner tonight was frozen mini samosas and frozen brown rice. (so everyone feels better, they weren't frozen when we actually ate them. But they were 3 minutes before we did).

Ow.

XOXO,
Kiran

Holla With Masala Tuesday

I know I am wordy and talk about myself a lot. Thanks for listening guys. Today, it's not about me. It's about honoring some wonderful bloggers who I think deserve a little shout out.

A little "Holla with Masala," if you will. Here goes:

Cool chicks (who always bring the funny):

Meredith at (flash) pasteurized; Monique at A Day in the Life of a Surferwife; Tracy at Stir-Fry Awesomeness; Lisa at Lemon Gloria and Beth at What I Should Have Said

Gorgeous bloggers who "sparkle" to me. (You guys above are also sparkly, but I already put you in the "bringing the funny" category so you can't qualify two times):

Shandal at My Life in 3D; Karls, my new favorite Aussie, at Karlsophies; Sarah at Stroller Ballet; Cher at The Only Girl;

Inspiring Minds. I look to the women below for some inspiration. They seem a teensy bit more grounded than I am:

Elise at Oh My Goddess; Anna at An Inch of Gray; Maven at A Fabulously Good Life; AJ at Simple Sweet Inspiration

And last, but definitely, never EVER least. My good friend, Glennon at Momastery.

Glennon and I run in different "bloggy circles". But we are good friends in real life. But in blog life, we go to each others blogs and comment quietly, and then kind of scamper out, not wanting to cause a scene or draw too much attention to ourselves.

Glennon is probably one of the funniest people I know. She is also one of the most honest people I know. And I love her for that.

I am including a post I think you will enjoy.

Oh. And this is Glennon. With her husband, Craig.


Yeah, I know. I know. LOOK AWAY. They are very, VERY scary looking.

Oh, did I mention that sometimes she posts pictures of him?

Pause.

Did I also mention the pictures of Craig were, um. . . topless?

(sound of stampede)

Hey, hey! Where'd you guys all go? Come back! I'm not done yet.

Thank you. Wipe that drool off your face, Monique. You already had your hot firemen today.

I can't really say anything, because Craig is my husband's best friend and they are like family. But you probably could, if you felt so compelled.

Drumroll . . . . here's Glennon.

*************************************************************
Airing Our Dirty Laundry

Ah…it’s Sunday. The day I don’t blog, launder, sweep, or cook -you know, out of love for Jesus. And utter exhaustion.

Today however, I must break my Sunday rule. Because something happened yesterday that I can’t NOT tell you about.

Yesterday, I sneaked out of the house at the crack of dawn to go to the grocery store. I don’t even change out of my pajamas to do errands anymore... it has come to that. I just brush my teeth, grab my purse and I’m out the door. Okay, I don’t always brush my teeth, but I use mouthwash every time.

So as I’m walking up and down the grocery aisles, I notice this distinct, mildewy, putrid odor following me. And I keep looking around for the responsible party, until I discover that she is me. I stink.

When I get home, Craig rolls out of bed to help me with the groceries and I say “Honey, smell me. I stink.” And he sniffs my shirt and says without surprise, “Yes, you do.” And I say “Well, what IS that? It’s disgusting.” And he says the following:

“It’s mildew. All our clothes smell like that. We always stink.”

I’ll just give you a few seconds to digest that information. I know I needed a little time.

“WHAT? WELL WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME, HUSBAND?”

“I was scared to tell you. You get sensitive about….housekeeping stuff.”

“Oh. So let me clarify here. You’d rather reek all day at work and allow Chase to be THE STINKY KID IN CLASS than risk me getting mad?

“Yes. Yes, I would. Definitely.”

Kay.

I left the groceries on the counter and immediately drove back to the store to buy some fancy detergent, the kind that costs more than five dollars. I smelled them all until I found one that reminded me of flowers and every popular girl I’d ever met. Then I came back home and started washing each Old Navy t-shirt, Dora panty, and pair of yoga pants in this house. I’m still not done.

I learned two very important things yesterday, and I’d like to share them with you, just in case you are in the Laundry and Wife Remedial Classes, like I am.

#1. Okay- this is, apparently, how laundry works. Say your laundry day is Wednesday. You cannot put the laundry in the washer on one Wednesday, and then wait to put it in the dryer until the following Wednesday. You must finish it all on the SAME Wednesday. It’s unfair, but true. If you don’t, your family will smell like dead mice.

#2. You must be sweeter to your husband so he is not afraid to tell you that your entire family reeks.

Sigh.

Housekeeping and marriage are complicated.
Momastery, Posted on August 23, 2009

*************************************************************
So go fall in love with Glennon and her fellow "Monkees" a little more every day. Read about how she thought she was getting punk'd by Ashton ("It's the End of the World as I Know It") today. When I tried to help her in her quest for domestic domination, look what she did with the pan I got her ("The Panhandler"). Yes, girlfriend has yet to use the pan to cook, but she found another use for it.

Sneaky, Glennon. Very sneaky.

So later guys. I hope you are inspired by G-Love. She won't cook for you or bake any cookies or anything, because . . . well, um. It's just not her forte.

But she is a brilliant writer and an even better friend.

Shoo! Go on now.

XOXO,
Kiran

My Big Fat Indian Wedding

So, many of you (ok, ok, it was just two of y'all) have asked how John and I managed the whole multi-religion, multi-cultural thingamajig.

Officially? With grace and dignity and acceptance of all our differences.

Really?

Nah. We're running around like chickens with our heads cut off. That is OFF the record, of course.

Quick recap. I am a second generation Indian-American. Hubby's Dad is Italian. His Mom is Puerto-Rican.

Our babies are Quarter-Ricans.

Got it? Good.

And to make things more confusing, I will also tell you this. While I am the one who is Indian, this is what my husband looks like:


Yeah - I know. Straight out of Bollywood.* So, I understand if you are confused.

(*Friends, if you don't know what Bollywood is, you need to come to Masala Chica and we need to have a little talk, kaysies?)

Moving right along.

When people talk about how stressful wedding planning is, I usually have to yell a big "Hallelujah!" Even if they weren't talking to me, and were perhaps just talking about it on the train. You know, while I eavesdropped.

Because wedding planning is hard. Or as my daughter says, "It's HURD, Mommy."

But here is where I am going to try to one-up you. I promise I won't try to do this often. Just let me feel like I bear the bigger burden today. Deal?

Here is what most of my friends have had to work with:

1 Wedding
1 Dress
Many crazy relatives
Many crazy friends
1 crazy mom
1 reception hall
A limo

Here is what I had:

Long distance wedding (Lived in VA, had the wedding in NJ)
2 ceremonies
350 guests
3 caterers
3 devastating deaths in our family that year
1 asshole reception hall manager
3 wedding dresses
60 Crazy relatives
LOTS of drunk, out of state friends
And a partridge in a pair tree (seriously, it's part of the Indian ceremony).

Gotcha.

So it was rough. I was a wreck. I cursed a lot. I drank even more. I forgot to eat. And I yelled at John every day.

All in all, it was a fairy tale. for Cinder-freaking-rella.

Anyway - here is kind of a pictorial recap. All pictures here are courtesy of my kickass wedding photographer, Jeffrey Vock.

Getting ready. At 5 AM. I was hungover from the rehearsal dinner. Can't tell? Good. Then I'm just kidding.

On the way to the church, getting pictures taken at the park

During the Catholic ceremony. I don't know what was so funny. But I looked like I could use a sandwich.

The Henna that had been meticulously painted on and had to dry for 10 hours on my hands the week of the wedding. This is the beautiful stain that remains.

My parents dancing because they will be rid of me after this day. People think I am joking, but this is very true. When John asked for their permission to marry me, my mother said, "Thank you, Thank you!" and burst into tears. John didn't know whether to say "You're Welcome" or run for the hills.

The barat (No, not BORAT. BARAT) - when the groom's family meets the bride's family. Usually people will get a horse or an Elephant for the groom. We got a Rolls Royce because I didn't want to have to deal with poop. (I kinda had my hands full at this point).

John got thrown around. Doesn't he look like Aladdin there?

My older sisters (two of my favorite women in the world) walked me in to the Indian ceremony.

My cute little toesies. They usually don't look this nice.
Looking down. Yeah, definitely not.

I think someone just wacked me on the head with a flower. Thanks, Aaron Jackson. (350 guests and I still saw you do it).

After we were allowed to have our first drink that day. Notice my eyes have already started to glaze over.

Foxtrotting to "The Way You Look Tonight". If you know John, Sinatra was the only right choice.

Big Party. Lots of Dancing. The dance floor was full. Tables empty.

I got thrown around.

So did John. Again. (See Barat)

The Tarantella happened at some point.

Then I told everybody to go home. "Shoo!" I said.
Ok, I didn't but if I did, would you blame me? Aren't you tired just looking at 1/100th of my wedding pictures?

Yes, my photographer gave me 1500 pictures. He shot in film.

For those of you who only know digital and don't even know what 1500 film shots MEANS, all I have to say is, it's CUH-RAZY.

So going back to how we do this whole multi-cultural thingamajig? It's a lot like what our wedding looked like.

It's absolute chaos and makes me 100% certifiable EVERY DAY.

But I wouldn't have it any other way.

XOXO,
Kiran